


Repeat

by Kerkerian



Series: Merlin and Harry [4]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Background - Freeform, Drama, Established Relationship, Harry's POV, Harry's and Merlin's past, Humour, M/M, Merlin's an amputee, Merlin's pov, Pre-Canon, Some Fluff, dog OC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's birthdays over the years: it's never boring in a Kingsman's life, and especially not if one Harry Hart is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Kingsman.

 

 

1987

 

At one o'clock in the morning, it's mostly silent in the Kingsman headquarters. There's the soft buzzing of machines and the occasional whirring of the air conditioning, but that's it. I've gotten used to it, just as I've gotten used to making my nights into days if need be. These first few months in the job have been as taxing as they have been exciting, but I already know that I love my new position and want to keep it as long as possible.

There isn't a precise description for what I do, it's rather a melange of tasks: tech support, quartermaster and occasional fieldwork. I was a little intimidated by all of that at first, but I'm beginning to feel more at home with my responsibilities, especially since the budget seems limitless and enables me to get the best of gadgets for my fellow agents. It does feel like being in a Bond movie at times, which makes for a lot of fun. Sometimes, being mission control is rather the opposite, particularly so if something goes wrong. More often than not however, it just requires a lot of patience.

I'm having my eye on both Percival's and Bedevere's threads, remotely opening doors for them after having disabled the alarms, when Galahad comes in, all chipper at this time of night. I have quickly gotten used to be called Merlin instead of Alan and I had no trouble memorizing all the other code names, but Galahad always rather seems to be Harry. He smiles but keeps silent, seeing that I'm busy.

Once Percival and Bedevere are in, I turn around to my visitor: “Galahad. It's late.” Immediately, I could kick myself for saying something so stupid; somehow, I can't keep my cool around him.

He grins, misschievously so: “That's where you're wrong, Merlin. On the contrary: it's early.” With one smooth motion, he produces a bottle of champagne from behind his back: “Happy birthday!”

Oh. My birthdays aren't usually something to look forward to, never have been, and even I forgot it was today.

“Thank you,” I manage, feeling a little shaken for reasons I don't want to deduce right now. As Harry- _Galahad_ begins to peel off the wire around the cork, I shake my head: “I can't, I'm in the middle of something.”

“Just one sip and then I'll leave you in peace. I'm leaving for Moscow in a few hours, I won't be able to celebrate with you later.”

At this, several questions pop up in my head: _Then why aren't you asleep?_ and _Why do you want to celebrate with me at all?_ are the most prominent ones, and somehow, they leave me with weak knees.

Luckily, Harry- Gal- oh, _sod it_! is busying himself with the two glasses he had brought, therefore he doesn't notice my imitation of a goldfish as I open my mouth and close it again, uncomfortably dumbfounded. Harry and I have been on good terms from the first moment we met, but we rarely see each other in person. He sometimes does come to my terminal for a chat or a cuppa, yet those occasions are few and far between, we're all too occupied with our tasks.

Well. If I'm honest with myself, I'm not entirely surprised about this. There's a reason why I'm getting flustered every time Harry is near me after all, but I can't heed it. It'd be marvellous if he didn't only seek my company because he wants to be friends, but I cautioned myself not to read anything into it, not even into this, him bringing me champagne in the middle of the night just because it's my birthday. He's just a decent, genuinely nice guy, that's what I should stick to. I wouldn't want to risk Harry's friendship, if one can even call it that.

With a slightly trembling hand, I accept the glass. Harry smiles at me with such obvious affection that it surges right through me, leaving me with a stomach full of dancing butterflies and a sense of confusion. He raises his own glass: “Many happy returns.”

We didn't even touch, I realize once he has left, and yet the air is thick with tension of some kind, I can't bring myself to name it. I blink, try to focus and concentrate on the monitors in front of me. It's difficult because I've got Harry on my mind; somehow, he managed to turn everything upside down with that short visit just now, leaving me baffled and wondering.

All I know is that the silence somehow is much louder now.

 

 

 

1992

 

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Harry asks for the umpteenth time, meeting my eyes in the mirror with a rather sombre expression.

“Aye! It can't get worse than this, Harry.”

With a sigh, but luckily not arguing further, Harry picks up the shaving cream and distributes it evenly on my head. My hair has been thinning since my mid-twenties, and lately it has been looking ridiculous in my opinion, therefore I asked Harry to shave the rest of it off.

His touch is gentle and I don't doubt he'll do a good job; he can be so painstakingly careful that it's downright annoying sometimes.

It doesn't take very long because there really hasn't been very much left to shave. I'm looking at my new self and find it strange nevertheless. Maybe it's just the idea of being bald at 29, maybe it's because my head now does look rather angular.

Harry however smiles at me, and the smile deepens when I look up at him, still in the mirror: “You were right,” he says, “it looks good.” If it weren't for that smile I'd think he only said it to appease me. As it is, I believe him. Harry can intimidate anyone when his demeanour is serious, yet his smile can melt ice.

I immediately feel better because I can feel his affection in every fibre even before he bends down and kisses me right on the scalp: “Happy birthday, darling.”

It was something I had to get used to, this frequent use of terms of endearment, it wasn't something one did in my family. Yet Harry, once we had gotten together, had absolutely no qualms of calling me the most ridiculous, cringeworthy names like _Babycakes_ or _Honey_ , and somehow, I never protested. I never use them myself though, which he in turn doesn't seem to mind.

I catch his hands before he can straighten up, turn around and pull him closer, burrow into his embrace. His jumper is soft against my cheek. Most of the time, we have to be tough not only on the outside, something the job brings with it. In the privacy of our homes, it's different. We can be uncomplicated.

Harry gently strokes my neck: “Let's go back to bed,” he says softly, which we do. Unhurriedly, Harry undresses us both, and I marvel at his every movement, since he is so graceful. His hands are warm as they roam over my skin, and I find that I'm kissing him almost hungrily, desperate to get more of him. We don't lose much time today, Harry barely manages to fumble around in the drawer of the nightstand to get the necessary supplies, but it's okay, I'm relaxed and ready. It feels like a blessing, this joining of our bodies, I fleetingly think I'll never get used to the thrill and the notion of belonging. Harry is gentle and firm and I want him even closer, don't want this to end. When it finally does, we lie still for a moment, Harry in my arms, both of us sweaty, our heartbeats running together.

I remember the first time we slept with each other, which was in the shower of Harry's old apartment. Harry had just returned from Russia, two weeks after my birthday, and since I hadn't been able to get him out of my head at all, I decided to throw caution to the wind and surprise him this time. And surprised he was, not at all his usual cocky self at first. A cup of tea restored him to his wits, however, which was how we found ourselves kissing instead of me leaving, and somehow, what followed seemed inevitable.

I smile at the memory, pressing a kiss into Harry's hair: “I love you.”

“Good birthday so far?”

I pinch him: “Idiot.”

Grinning, he props himself up on his elbows: “I love you more,” he then says, and there is the smile again instead of the grin, and I wonder if it is possible to fall in love with the same person over and over again.

 

 

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "first time in the shower" refers to my story "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them".
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

1997

 

Harry looks drawn when he returns to HQ; the last time I've seen him like this was when Mr. Pickles died last year. Needless to say, it hasn't been an easy task to talk to Lee Unwin's wife. On the way back from Yemen, Harry hadn't talked at all, just sat next to me in stony silence, and that evening, I was fairly sure he had cried in the shower, judging from his reddened eyes. I didn't say anything though, knowing him well enough to see that he didn't want my consolation right then. He needed to feel guilty, not being comforted. So I let him be.

When he returns from the Unwins, he comes straight to my office and sits down heavily on the chair next to my desk.

“The little boy,” he just says, and I understand. Lee Unwin hadn't talked much, but his face had lit up with pride the few times he had mentioned his son. Of course, all the Kingsman recruits know what they are risking, and if they don't take the standard body bag intimidation technique on their first day serious, they'll nevertheless realize what they are in for during training. Frankly though, no one ever thinks it's going to be themselves. Being a top spy can get to one's head, making one think one is invincible, even if one is a poorly-skilled idiot. Lee Unwin had the necessary skills and the right instincts, it's a shame, really.

“I should have noticed the grenade,” Harry mutters, staring into the middle-distance.

Silently, I put a hand on his arm until he meets my gaze: “I didn't notice it either,” I say. “If anything, we're all to blame.”

Harry nods half-heartedly; I can see that he's not convinced. He'll take a while to stomach the incident, and for now, there isn't much I can do except making him some tea. He accepts the cup gratefully when I return from the small kitchen, and stays long after he's drunk that one as well as two more. Maybe he just needs my company, even though I don't have time to talk since I'm busy with the aftermath of our operation. Harry stays, despite the rather uncomfortable chair, and just watches me at work, which I don't mind because it's him.

 

Late that evening, we go home together; in the early morning of the following day, I wake up with Harry firmly wrapped around me. I'm glad that he does need me in situations such as this, that I can be of comfort to him just by being there, especially if there are no words that can make it better. And I'm not always good with words, I tend to come across a bit harsh.

I can't go back to sleep, therefore I simply lie still and listen to Harry's breathing. Not that much later it tells me that he's waking up as well, in stages. Then, as if confirming my knowledge of his breathing patterns, he suddenly reinforces his grip around me, takes a shuddering breath and another one, and I know that he's still as shaken as on the previous day.

Slowly, I reach for his hand, which is about as much as I can manage with Harry's vice-like hold of me, and wrap my fingers around it, squeezing a little. He just holds on even tighter, his breathing sounding ragged. No one who knows him would believe this, he's always so very much in command of the situation and himself. He's not crying, but he's fighting very hard to keep his composure. I know that he will watch out for Lee Unwin's wee boy, at least for the next few months or so, to make sure he's all right.

Kingsman doesn't pay a widow's pension to recruits, but knowing Harry, he's arranged for something nevertheless. It's my birthday next month; I'll tell him to buy something for Lee's boy instead of getting me a present, that might cheer him up.

When he has calmed down somewhat, I turn around in Harry's arms to look at him. He is dishevelled and pale, with dark shadows underneath his eyes.

“I'm so sorry,” I murmur, because now seems the right time to say it.

Harry studies my face for a moment, then closes his eyes and scoots closer, ducking his head under my chin, seeking shelter.

I hold on to him until we both fall asleep again.

 

“Thank you,” he says that evening, and I know what he means.

“It's a complementary thing,” I tell him, and for a moment, we smile.

 

 

 

2002

 

It's snowing. The trees and rooftops are already covered with a white blanket, though everything still has a blue-ish tint because it's just getting light outside. I've been sitting at the window since six, staring out into the darkness, because that's better than staring into the darkness around me, which I'd have done otherwise. I can't bear that right now, just as I can't bear just sitting here. It's all I can do for the time being however, and it's driving me mad.

The past few months have been rough, to say the least. Once again, Harry and I overlooked something, though to be fair, it was mostly me this time. The explosion did not kill anyone but left three people injured, one of them me. I temporarily lost my sight and permanently lost part of my left leg. Without Harry, I'd probably have given up at one point in the weeks that followed, but he has been here for me with endless patience and love.

I remember waking up in the dark, numb from the drugs, barely able to recall who I was, and unable to comprehend the situation at first. All that registered were my confusion and the perpetual darkness. Later on, when I was more alert, there was panic as well because no amount of furious blinking changed anything, but Harry was there, his presence like oxygen, his hand like a lifeline.

I didn't believe the surgeon when he said that my blindness was very likely only temporary, but I believed Harry when he told me the same. And they were right, my sight did come back eventually. By then, I had already begun to understand that I was an amputee, a slow process. Accepting it will take much longer. For a long time, I couldn't even look when the nurse changed the dressing, couldn't comprehend that the word _stump_ now applied to my lower left leg. I can still feel it at times, and it even itches. It's maddening because of course one can't scratch what's not there. It's enough to make a grown man cry in the middle of the night, and it makes sleeping impossible. It's after one such night that I've chosen to get up and look out of the window even though it's still dark outside, and incidentally, it's also my birthday, the reason why they have let me escape rehab for the weekend; conveniently, this year my birthday is on a Sunday.

I stare at the pale light of a streetlamp and realize that there are swirling shapes around it. Once more, I'm grateful that I can see again, but at the same time, there's also an already familiar bitterness making itself known: I'm not whole anymore. I'll need a prosthetic leg and I'll probably never be out in the field again.

At least I still have my job, though they don't let me work at the moment and I'm feeling quite useless. The wound is healing well and I've already been forced to wear a preliminary prosthesis in order to begin physiotherapy. Walking without crutches however seems infeasible, I have no idea how I am supposed to simply go on with my life once I'm allowed to resume it. For now, I'm first and foremost a patient, which doesn't sit too well with me. Poor Harry has to bear the brunt of my moods, which can change within seconds, and sometimes when I lie awake at night I'm afraid that our relationship might not survive this. The person in the mirror is alien to me in my current state, I don't see how I can give Harry what he needs. How I can give him anything.

Feeling empty and strangely bereft, which is unsettling, I keep watching the snowflakes as they tumble down to the ground, completely unaware that they, too, are soon going to change forever.

 

It's not yet eight o'clock and the world still has a blue tinge when Harry stirs. Immediately after discovering I'm not in the bed, he sits up, blinking: “Couldn't sleep?”

I just shrug, since the answer is obvious. Harry blinks again: “Happy birthday,” he says. “There will be singing later.”

“Don't bother. It's not a particularly happy day,” I mutter, immediately feeling mean. Harry however can take my petty remark in his stride; with a sigh, he gets to his feet, shrugs into his dressing gown and pecks me on the cheek before disappearing in the bathroom.

When he comes back a while later, he is carrying a tray with tea and toast on one hand and my clothes on the other arm: “Breakfast and then it's time to get dressed.”

“Why? We're not going anywhere, are we?”

“Yes, we are. It's a surprise.”

“Harry-”

“Please.” All the pain I've cause him in the past months by being belligerent and unreasonable or even rude when he has been nothing but patient and caring is contained in this one word, I'm sure. We're both unhappy, but as I said, he is currently bearing the brunt, meaning he is shouldering not only his own unhappiness but mine as well, and he thinks that he isn't even allowed to show how much all of this is afflicting him. I don't know how he does it, but I don't want to make it worse, so I give in.

 

One of the Kingsman cabs is waiting for us outside. I'm wearing the preliminary prosthesis again and using crutches, which is slow-going but infinitely better than a wheelchair. Harry is carrying a large duffle bag, refusing to tell me what he has planned. I hope it's nothing which requires an overnight stay; I really don't feel up to it.

Everything looks nice because of the snow, and there is less traffic, at least I think there is. I find that I'm enjoying the drive through London, since I haven't been out much lately.

We park in the garage of a renowned hotel; in the lobby, Harry leads me directly to the lifts, and a short while later, we're standing in front of a pool.

“Surprise,” Harry says meekly, because he has already seen my face.

“You want us to go swimming?”

“Yes. I've booked the pool for the morning and lunch afterwards. I've checked with Dr. Carmichael, who says it's okay.”

I'm not sure I want to, but now Harry's almost anxious expression has the same effect on me as the tone of his voice earlier when he said “please”, therefore I don't really have a choice. I don't want to lose him, after all.

I feel awkward in my swimming trunks and avoid to look at my leg, or what's left of it. Harry helps me to sit down on the edge of the pool; it's strange to feel the water around my one foot but not the other, and I feel myself shudder. There will be more moments like this, firsts of the uncomfortable kind. Can you mourn a lost limb?

Harry slides into the pool and beckons me to follow him, which I do, slowly. The water admittedly is wonderful, cool and pleasant against my skin. Swimming feels strange though, my legs just don't seem to be moving evenly, and since the skin on the stump is still tender, it's a little uncomfortable at first. I try not to let it on and swim a few laps. I'm tired rather quickly; no surprise there, considering. I pull myself out of the water and watch Harry going on for a while before joining me: “Are you all right?” he asks, panting a little, and I nod: “Yeah. It's nice.” He beams at me and climbs out of the pool: “Got an idea.”

He finds us two long foam tubes he calls “Pool Noodles”: “These are great. You can bend them into a U-shape and just lie back and float,” he says rather gleefully, “I've seen it in the spa in Bath.”

The things looks far too flimsy to carry our respective weights, but surprisingly, they do, and it's nice to “just lie back and float”. I can close my eyes and almost forget about my leg.

 

Harry paddles over to me at one point, gently turns me towards him and kisses me. Automatically, I kiss back because this is so intimately familiar, and I realize that I've missed him. It seems we haven't kissed like this in a long time.

“Thank you,” I say softly once we've come up for air.

Harry smiles at me: “It's a complementary thing,” he says, impishly.

I shake my head: “I mean all of it, Harry.”

“Me too.”

Stubborn git. “You know what I'm talking about. You had to put up with all this shit and you didn't lose your patience even once.”

“That's because I'm practically a saint,” Harry replies, though his eyes are serious now.

I reach for his hand, underwater: “But I'm not. I know that I've been an arse lately, and I'm sorry. It's just... I'm still in the pitying-myself-phase.”

Harry's eyes roam over my face, taking in every detail: “I almost lost you,” he says calmy. “It was utterly horrible, I don't think I've ever felt so devastated, waiting for you to pull through. I'll gladly put up with whatever phases you're going through as long as I can help you in any way.”

“I didn't die though,” I retort with a constricting throat. “And you're entitled to get annoyed with me, despite what happened.”

The corners of Harry's mouth turn up ever so slightly: “I know. So far, you haven't succeeded in truly annoying me. Maybe it's my aforementioned sainthood, or maybe the gratitude for still having you in my life effectively outweighs everything else.”

“Bullshit.”

“No. Truth. For the past almost fifteen years, you kept amazing me, Merlin. You still do.”

“Even now?”

“Especially now. You're the bravest person I know.”

I can barely speak, but I manage to get out a nearly inaudible “God, Harry. I'm such a lucky bastard to have you.”

Harry pulls me into his arms, treading water to keep us upright, and presses the tip of his nose against mine: “Just as I am to have you,” he says in a low voice. “Even though of course you're broken goods now.”

I can't but laugh at that, and if my eyes are swimming a little, well, so be it.

 

I'm completely knackered when we get home and opt for a nap, asking Harry to join me. It feels like I've worked out for hours, telling me how much I'll have to catch up on. Sighing inwardly, I just slip out of my clothes and take off the prosthesis and slide under the covers with Harry. We fall asleep with our arms firmly around each other; for the first time in weeks, I don't lie awake worrying prior to that.

 

We sleep for two hours, and waking is a slow affair. I feel Harry caressing me; it could be a normal moment on any given day before the explosion. I don't dwell on that now, I simply give in to it; it's the first time we're sleeping together since it happened, the first time I'm feeling something akin to normal.

 

Later, we're sitting on the sofa in the living room, having tea and eating some of the birthday cake. Harry did sing, as promised, and he has managed not to burn the cake too badly this year. It's snowing again and I wish I could stop time; I don't want to go back to rehab, it's so cozy here in Harry's home. We don't often have time for days like these, therefore they have to be cherished.

In the evening, before I leave, I thank Harry again; it turned out to be a lovely day, after all. I still have a long way to go, and there'll be setbacks. Due to Harry, however, I don't feel so emotionally bruised anymore; if he still believes in me after all he's witnessed during the past months, it'll be easier for me to look ahead.

Harry just smiles that smile of his: “Anytime, darling,” he replies.

 

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not read the following if you don't want any spoilers for Kingsman 2!
> 
> Since poor Merlin has already lost his lower left leg in my headcanon rather early on, I'm now really curious about those greenscreen stockings Mark Strong wore during shooting last week, I so hope that we'll get a bit of backstory!


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

2007: Harry

 

Merlin sleeps, unaware that he's just turned forty-four. I've come home from Argentina an hour ago and briefly considered rousing him, but the simple fact that he barely woke up when our dog Cody raised the alarm upon my entry had me refrain; Merlin works hard and doesn't complain about his long and often erratic hours, his rest is well-earned. I bent down to kiss him hello when I came in and he smiled sleepily and mumbled something unintelligible, but I could see how he wasn't really awake, therefore I just lingered next to him, gently caressing him until he dozed off again. I only got up when my knees started to protest.

I'm tired as well, but I'm still too wide awake nevertheless. For now, I'm content with sitting on the mattress and just looking at the man I'm living with. Cody has already jumped back onto the bed and curled up with a yawn; he grunts ever so slightly when I stroke him and sighs somewhat long-sufferingly: he takes sleeping very serious and doesn't like to be disturbed just because someone feels cuddly.

I close my eyes for a moment and just enjoy the atmosphere in the room, the soft breathing of man and dog, the scent of home. This is where I ground myself whenever the job has been a pain in the rear and I feel less like myself because of something which happened. On some days, I'm not certain if I do consider myself an actual gentleman or if it's just a role I'm playing because I like it and I'm good at it. For me, a gentleman is someone who is refined in manners and education rather than someone born into rank and standing, something Arthur studiously fails to notice; sometimes however I feel like a beast of prey in a suit. On those days, I can't allow anyone to come too close, but I need Merlin around. His mere presence is soothing because he seems so utterly in control, so incredibly calm.

Of course, I know him well enough to be aware when inwardly, he's not, and I can always tell if something upset him. He's not unassailable after all, a thought that is rather chilling. The one time he was injured so gravely that I didn't know if I was going to lose him is a period I choose not to think of too often. During those weeks and months, it had to be I who had to be strong for the both of us, who had to be calm and composed. I never told Merlin how difficult it was, though he probably knows. Unsurprisingly, he's seeing through me just as I am seeing through him.

He sighs in his sleep, bringing me back to the present; slowly, I get to my feet, undress and crawl under the covers with him, meaning a bit of negotiation with Cody first.

Immediately, Merlin nestles against me. He is warm and feels gorgeous in my arms; grateful to be home, I bury my nose in my darling's neck and close my eyes.

 

 

2012

 

Over the years, I didn't keep track how many times I've worked late or entirely through the night. Our agents' missions always have the highest priority, therefore I once again find myself at my station in the wee hours of my birthday. This time, I didn't forget about it because of Harry; when I came home yesterday, I could smell cake (slightly burned as per usual), and he's been secretly excited for the last few days.

I'm monitoring Bors; this time, I'm not that surprised when Harry all but saunters into the room. Cody, our dog, has already heard him, and from the way he just lifted his head but didn't growl a warning, I knew who it was. Cody now gets to his feet, bumping into my legs as he hastily makes his way out from under my desk to greet Harry, whole body wagging.

Harry strokes him: “Hello darling,” he says lovingly, “You're such a good boy.”

Cody came to us a year after the explosion; Harry never told me where exactly he found him, but he was about two years old and missing his right front leg. Harry thought it very clever of him to give me a pet with an affliction similar to mine; Cody is doing amazingly well with his three remaining legs and is the perfect role model in Harry's opinion.

He's such a git sometimes. I am doing much better myself, incidentally; I've long since learned to not only walk with my prothestic leg but to accept it as my own limb. I'm running with it and have even been on horseback a few times, though I'm still not cleared for active field duty; too much could go wrong, it makes me more vulnerable. At least that's what our physician thinks, and Arthur agrees. Most of the time, I don't mind. I have eventually taken over even more responsibilities, such as the training of new recruits if required. I didn't necessarily need a three-legged dog to get where I am now, but Harry obviously was so proud of himself and I so immediately charmed by Cody that I never lost a word about it.

When Harry brought Cody to me, the dog was shy, nervous and malnourished. Soon however, he seemed to feel at home and accept us as his family; it took a lot of patience, but I had forgotten how wonderful it was to have a dog around, what gentle little souls they can be. How grateful they can be for a bit of love and regular food.

Now, more than eight years later, it's infeasible that Cody once didn't belong to us. He's with me while I'm working, reminding me to take regular breaks and go outside for some air and exercise; on some days, we run together, more often however I throw him his frisbee which he catches like a pro, despite his age jumping up impossibly high in order to do so.

It's lovely to have him here, especially in the long hours of the night; sometimes, if the moment allows it, I turn off the audio feed and just listen to Cody's quiet breathing underneath my desk. I hope he'll be with us for a long time.

 

“Many happy returns,” Harry now says, bending down to kiss me. For a moment, we take the time to lose ourselves in each other's closeness, but I still have Bors' feed to supervise.

Harry brought champagne: “Can you believe it's twenty-five years ago when we first did this?” he asks, and I smile at the memory: “Yeah, we're becoming old codgers.”

Grimacing, Harry pours the champagne: “Ghastly notion. I don't feel old, though.”

“Well, you're not sixty yet, that's got to count for something.”

Harry shakes his head in mock pity: “Yeah, you just wait and see.”

 

He stays with me for a while; before he leaves, he crouches down rather ungentlemanly and crawls under the desk to kiss Cody goodbye. I studiously ignore his suggestive grin and his hands on my thighs, though I can't stop myself from laughing about him, mightily confusing Bors at the other end of the line.

At one point, I all but throw him out, if with no small amount of regret: after all, not only my birthdays have become something special because of him. Smiling, I'm turning my attention back to my tasks; long after Harry's gone though, I can still feel his warmth.

 

 

**The End**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> #stopyulin2016  
> #stopyulinforever

**Author's Note:**

> The "first time in the shower" refers to my story "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them". 
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> #stopyulin2016  
> #stopyulinforever


End file.
